White Moon
by Yay Ninja Bob
Summary: Part II up. SLASH. KennyKyle. KennyStan. A trilogy about one boy's struggle with love and fate and everything in between. PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Part I

**White Moon**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California.

* * *

_**A/N: Not a one-shot. I've been trying to write this as a one-shot for the longest time, but it's not working. I don't know what this is really... it's not going to be very long. I'm calling it a trilogy, because I plan to have three parts to it. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned _Of the Obsessed and Abused_. OtOaA is my priority so expect an OtOaA update before a WM update. **

**Once again the White Stripes is my inspiration. This time it's their song _White Moon_, which is in my top ten list of BEST SONGS EVER.**

**Oh yes, and this is rated M for... future... stuff.

* * *

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**--****  
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**Part I: It's the Truth and it Don't Make a Noise**

**-- **

He burnt everything. All that he had felt, loved, dreamt about, he expressed in sketchbook after sketchbook. The pages that were once a clean white, then filled with colors of wide variety and textures, were gone. They were pieces of ash now, floating through the night air. Some stuck to his face and skin which drenched with thick sweat, brought on by the heat of the flames. In the dark of the deserted backyard of his home, the only light was that of the destructive fire, he had intentionally started in an old metal trash bin, and that of the light of the bright, white moon.

When he watched everything burn, he cried. He had done it so subconsciously, as if it was something he was naturally destined to do... create and destroy... and it made him weep.

When the fire grew taller and taller, and the flames began to touch the branches of a tree overhead, he watched silently as the fire consumed the branches, the leaves, the roof of his home-- He watched and felt nothing, because in that trash bin, he had already lost everything.

And now he had to start over. And he swore that this time, he would do it right.

* * *

When the fourteen-year-old boy, Kenny McCormick, came to the Marsh home with no where else to go, neither Sharon nor Randy Marsh could turn the troubled child away. The young boy had nothing left. His father had disappeared; whether it was an escape, a court order, or death, nobody knew. His mother cared for his brother, sister and him, and everything appeared to be fine; but something obviously had happened, for the fourteen-year-old ran away from home to the Marsh family, and refused to go back. 

Stan was perfectly aware of the reasoning behind Kenny's actions, though he liked to ignore the inevitable truth, and imagine it a bit differently. Deep down, he knew that Kenny hadn't run away to Cartman's home, because both he and Kenny knew that the greedy bastard wouldn't be quick to share anything with a "poor piece of crap" like Kenny. And Stan knew that Kenny hadn't run away to Kyle's, though it's where he wanted to and would've liked best; the number of arguments and quarrels between Kenny and Kyle had greatly increased, even more so than the disagreements between the Jew and Cartman. And although Kenny started each fight, he meant it in an entirely different way than Kyle. His intention was to try and reach a piece of Kyle, which the redhead refused to share with anyone else--the bit of him that he kept secret from the world-- his true identity-- his heart. Kenny came to Stan's because it was the only choice he had left.

But Stan liked to imagine it differently.

As the blonde haired boy stared out the window of Stan's room, sitting on the piled blankets which made up his artificial bed, he felt the stare of two blue eyes on him.

"You know, you don't have to sleep on the floor, if you don't want to," came the predicted comment.

Kenny nodded, keeping his eyes on the stars outside, "Uh huh..."

"...You can come and lay in bed with me. I... don't mind."

Kenny turned his head to face that of his friend's, who sat on his bed, with his legs pulled up to his chest. His hands rested so comfortably on his knees, with his fingers playfully picking at the striped blue material of his pajama bottoms. His eyes were unblinking with anticipation, yet glazed with care and concern. Kenny saw that Stan waited with held breath.

Kenny smiled a kind smile, in an attempt to show his gratitude. "I know you don't, Stan." His eyes locked with Stan's for a split second, before he turned them to his bare feet. He watched his toes squirm, as he tried to coax them out of their numb, frozen state. He had thought that the conversation was by then ended, and all was understood; but when he turned his back towards Stan and settled himself underneath his blankets and said "Goodnight, Stan," there was a long, silent pause, as if it all was just sinking in, before the black haired boy replied "Goodnight, Kenny."

* * *

The day had began just like any other Saturday morning, and nobody expected it to end any differently. The only person who had anticipated the change was Kenny, but then again, change was all that he had set out for that morning. 

But he didn't wish for anything like this.

He had strayed away early that morning, before anyone or anything was awake, including the sun. The fogged winter morning, was the coldest he had experienced yet. And when the darkness of the early morning lingered for a longer period of time, than what was considered normal, he should have then recognized the foreboding aura that surrounded him.

But he ignored it.

The only thing anyone had ever given him any credit to, was his art. He flunked math, he flunked English, he flunked history and science, but he excelled in art. It was his form of escape. He awoke early to run away from civilization so that he could be with the only thing that had ever truly supported him. And that morning, he was going to start anew.

Regularly when he did this, it was as if he could begin to walk in any direction, setting out to find a subject to work with, and fate would lead him to the same spot every time. No matter what, he always ended up outside his window. Kyle's window.

But that was over. He burnt those hundreds of pieces of the redhead, curled up comfortably in his sleep. He was determined that he would not end up _there_ again.

But he did. And when he had realized that his eyes were once again settled on those red curls, pale, pursed lips, and cute, wrinkled nose; he immediately turned and ran away. He was so frustrated with himself, and what he couldn't control. When he ran, he headed in the opposite direction of wherever the wind seemed to be blowing, taking the breeze as a disguised form of hapless fate he had always been so doomed to succumb to.

The cold wind stopped stinging the teenage boy's face and he ceased running for a moment to realize where he was. He had reached the frozen waters of Stark's Pond, and he decided that it was a suitable place for him to find something of interest to sketch out for the morning.

The sun was finally rising, and several minutes passed and Kenny had given up in searching for something, and simply had began sketching the first thing he saw ahead of him, which was a plain and simple, boring tree.

But Kenny had began to find himself taking extreme care in the illustration of something thought to be so common and dull. He wished that he had brought with him more than just a sketchbook and pencil, because he really wanted to play with the colors of the art piece.

He admired his work, when finally completed, for a long time, before turning the page, and beginning to draw the same tree over again.

It was really a magnificent tree. It was tall. Very tall. And it's trunk was thick and strong, as well as it's individual branches. The wind was strong that morning, and even as Kenny had found it a bit difficult to keep his balance that morning as he sat in the snow, the tree was completely unmoving. Although the rest of the pale, sand colored trees which surrounded this one, had long since lost all of their leaves, this single tree had not. Although those leaves were a dead, brown and unevenly scattered, it was still beautiful. Something so strong and defying had to be considered such.

Kenny smiled as he finished his second drawing. He again paused to hold it up for inspection, before turning the page, and beginning another.

So after some other nine or ten sketches of the tree, Kenny had completely lost track of time, and was unaware that it was well into the early afternoon, and at that time, there was a terribly worried Stan, rounding up his friends to aid in the search for him. So when Kenny was found by Stan, Kyle, and Cartman, he didn't really understand why they made such a big deal out of everything.

"See? We told you he was fine!" Cartman had shouted, introducing their presence to Kenny, who looked up surprised to find them there, and the light of day, which expressed the late hour.

"Yeah. What'd I tell you, Stan?" Kyle, who walked between Stan and Cartman, as the three approached Kenny who sat at the trunk of a tree, with his pencil and sketchbook still handy. "It's just a cry for attention," he muttered, not intending the message to be heard by Kenny.

At the comment, Kenny felt hurt, but he showed anger. "I heard that!" he said standing up immediately and dropping what he had in his hands.

Kyle looked completely taken back by the remark, realizing what he had done. He felt the immediate urge to apologize, but Kenny didn't give him the chance.

"Think what you want," the blonde said, kneeling to gather his things, "You always do, after all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kyle said, losing any bit of regret or sympathy he had just two seconds ago, and feeling as angry as Kenny.

"You know what it means!" Kenny snapped

"No, I don't! _What does it mean?_" The skinnier boy took a step towards the blonde, who kept his back towards him. He pushed him forcefully so that he whipped around on instinct to face him with a glare. "Tell me!" he pushed Kenny on the shoulder, "_Tell me, why don't you?_"

Stan exchanged glances with Cartman, who unlike him, wore a satisfied grin as if being entertained by the shouting like it was some sort of sitcom. Stan frowned and looked to his bickering friends, "Hey, calm down, you two."

Kenny kept quiet, and only glared at Kyle as he continued to yell at him. To Kenny, Kyle was always so defensive of these little things. He was always quick to justify any little thing, relating to himself or his character. It was ridiculous, how he tried so desperately to hide the evident truth from everyone.

And to Kyle, Kenny was always so pestering about things. He always tried to get into personal affairs that were anything but his business. As Kenny continued to remain silent, as Kyle screamed at him, Kyle only felt more and more anxious about the mystery of what was going on in Kenny's head, what his next words would be, or his next move... To Kyle, Kenny was a conniving little nuisance, determined to ruin his life.

And when Kenny had had enough and began to simply walk away, without saying anything or giving any certifiable answer to all of Kyle's demands, Kyle lost it.

Nobody expected Kyle to attack Kenny like that, knocking him hard and forcefully onto the frozen waters of Stark's Pond. Nobody expected the skinny boy to be hiding such strength and anger underneath him.

"_Don't you do that! Don't you look at me like that! You always look at me like that! What is that supposed to mean! What the fuck do you want from me? What the fuck do you want from me, Kenny?_" Kyle screamed and cried at the top of his lungs as he sat on top of Kenny, on the ice of the pond, his fingers, grasped tightly around Kenny's neck, and shaking him fiercely, "**_What the fuck do you want?_**" he repeated over and over in an increasing volume, as Kenny choked and stared up at him with wide eyes.

It took both Stan and Cartman to pull the screaming, clawing Kyle off of Kenny, who had been too shocked to do anything in his defense.

For a long time, the four boys remained silent as they stood on the ice. Stan had helped Kenny to his feet, and was checking a nasty cut he had received when his forehead had hit the icy floor. Kyle was calm then, and watched on, feeling ashamed and surprised of even himself. He wasn't sure what really triggered such an outburst, but he felt unmistakably horrible.

"I'm sorry," Kyle finally said, after attempting to several times before.

Kenny opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he heard a piercing noise which caused all four boys to stop and hold their breath.

"Run!" Stan screamed, being the first to recognize the cracking ice beneath their feet.

They weren't very far from solid ground, and it was easy for all of them to leap to safety before it was too late. Well, all but one.

* * *

The death of Eric Cartman was unexpected that morning when Kenny had set out to defy fate. He wondered if it was his fault in any way. All he wanted was to forget about Kyle. He only wanted to start a new life for himself-- one that didn't revolve around a petty crush. 

He thought that he had succeeded in doing so, but as he reviewed over the drawings later that night before he went to sleep on the floor beside of Stan's bed, he found that he hadn't drawn a tree after all.

They all looked like trees at first glance, but at close inspection, he saw the familiar face of Kyle, hidden within the bark of every tree.

Kenny tossed the drawings aside angrily. Later he rethought, perhaps it was just his tired mind playing tricks with him. It had to be. He sighed and stood to shut off the light so that he could fall asleep. Stan had fallen asleep some two hours prior to then. Although he was usually one to stay up late, he felt incredibly tired and empty after all the drama he had been through earlier in the day. He just wanted to sleep, and didn't really mind if he never woke up.

Just as Kenny's finger went to flip the light switch, Stan roused himself awake, spotting Kenny standing beside his bed, he immediately sat up.

Kenny looked down at Stan, "What's wrong?"

Stan blinked up at the blonde haired boy. Nothing was really wrong. It was just that he was startled by the sudden, unexpected presence of the one he loved. "Nightmare," he answered.

"Oh," Kenny said. He decided to play along, although he recognized it as a lie.

Stan was aware that Kenny didn't believe him, and felt a little embarrassed about being caught. He fell back on his back and then turned on his side, so that he no longer faced Kenny. The light in the room went away, and Stan's heart sank a little.

"What was your nightmare about?"

Stan turned onto his opposite side, and was surprised to find Kenny still standing just where he had been. He blinked up at Kenny's shadow, unable to see his face in the dark. Kenny knelt down so that his face was leveled with Stan's, and was finally visible, bathed in the light of the stars and moon outside. "I was... all alone," Stan replied in a whisper.

Kenny nodded, "I've had that one before."

Stan smiled a little and Kenny smiled too. Stan took a deep breath, and decided to attempt something he had attempted the night Kenny moved in, once more, "Kenny?"

"What is it?"

"Can you... sleep in bed with me? ...I'm still... shooken up... about my nightmare, that is."

"...I know you are," Kenny said, and Stan's heart pained, feeling the sting of rejection once again.

Kenny, however, didn't mean for it to sound like that. He pushed Stan gently, signaling for him to scoot over.

Stan blinked at Kenny, surprised at the gesture, and then immediately moved to make room for him. He watched him slide underneath the covers, beside him, awed simply by the way the blonde moved.

Deep down, Stan knew that Kenny had gotten into bed with him, simply because he really had no other choice.

But Stan liked to imagine it differently.


	2. Part II

**White Moon**

_A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California._

**--**

**Part II: What I Cannot Afford is a Ghost**

**--**

Forgetting is easier for some people than it is for others. It depends almost entirely on the relationship between the person and the subject he wishes to disregard. The stronger the bond, the stronger the memory-- the more severe, the pain.

How is it that things can be easily handed to a person--the perfect life-- the best of opportunities-- but he still turns the opposite way? Even after a year of being in an intimate relationship with Stan Marsh, Kenny still found himself drawn towards that addiction he had fought against for the longest-- Kyle. Maybe he just liked guys like that. The one's that played "hard to get" rather than the eager to please type that Stan was.

But Kyle wasn't playing any game of any sort. He was simply blind when it came to love. He had his doubts. He had his curiosities. He wondered what Kenny was thinking when he caught the boy so often staring at him while Stan cuddled with the blonde in his loving embrace. But he never intended to be leading anyone anywhere. He wasn't some tease. He was just a kid, trying to make it through high school, getting those grades that would get him to a good school, where he could graduate from, become a lawyer, marry a pretty girl, raise a family, and just have that normal, average guy, life.

Was that too much to ask for?

* * *

"I love you," Stan would say. 

And Kenny looked at him. He always wore a look of surprise. He seemed to express a disbelief. Nobody could love him. He'd then clear his throat, throw on a weak, and obviously fake smile, and answer: "…I know. …I love you too."

When Stan kissed Kenny, it was always Stan who had to start it. Stan had to be the first to begin the intimate moments. It took Kenny a while, but with much persistency from Stan, the boy was able to return the love.

Stan's ways seemed to grow surprising violent when Kenny refused to continue against Stan's will. It shocked Kenny the first time, that a boy as quiet and innocent as Stan, would be so forceful.

They were alone in Stan's room. Kenny still lived with the Marsh family; although they never made Stan's parents aware to the fact that they were in a relationship, the suspicion was strong, and the boy's actions had to be contemplated.

Kenny had slipped underneath the covers of Stan's bed, after the raven haired boy had pleaded that he was scared of the thunderstorm outside. Stan moved closer to Kenny instantly and kissed him hard.

Kenny played along for a while. He allowed his boyfriend to plant kiss after kiss on his lips, returning a few, but then stopping. Not getting the attention he was giving, seemed to anger Stan, and the boy climbed on top of him, pressing his lips fiercely against Kenny's.

"Stan," Kenny tried to talk with Stan's lips forcefully on his, "I'm tired…. Let's just--" He felt his head jolt as Stan grasped it tightly--almost painfully.

Kenny watched in a nearly frozen state as Stan removed his shirt and then Kenny's. He thrust his body against Kenny's, quietly mentioning his name in passionate whispers.

The desperate attempts were only disturbing to Kenny. "Stan… just… stop."

Stan kissed him again. As he slid his tongue into his mouth, he began to pull down Kenny's pants, and then his own.

As Stan's face nuzzled against his, Kenny felt Stan digging his body deeper and deeper into his own. He could also feel tears on Stan's face, confusing Kenny all the more. "_Please_," Stan begged. "_I love you._"

Kenny had had enough. He was not enjoying the moment in the least. He tried to shove Stan away, but the boy held on. It was a war that Stan was determined to win. It took Kenny four more attempts to get away before he gave up, turned Stan over, and gave him what he wanted.

And that was the way of their love life. Stan had to act like a stubborn child, demanding for something he wanted until the tired Kenny would give in. It wasn't something he liked, but what else could he do? Kenny overpowered him in that way. He just couldn't stand it. He wanted Kenny more than anything. He had him. He wouldn't let him go, no matter how horrible the reality of the situation was.

Kenny felt all the more distraught in such a relationship. But he liked part of it. He liked having that fully devoted love from someone. He wished he could return it. He tried to return it. But every time he tried to open his heart, the only feelings that would emerge, were for another.

He was completely helpless.

* * *

It was just an ordinary, cold, winter morning. Maybe that was what triggered it? Just that horribly average, "here we go again" aura that filled the air at sunrise. The unpromising winds that blew through his window served as a chilly reminder that this was it… this was his life… and how terribly bland it was. Life no longer was attractive; it carried no additional benefits for Kyle Broflovski. Why was he here? What was the point? 

And then, as if on cue, was that familiar blonde at his window.

"What're you doing here?" Kyle questioned as he opened his window.

Kenny blinked at him. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment. He'd visited Kyle's house just about every morning for as far back as he could remember, to only have a glance of his handsome, curly haired friend without receiving a "What're you looking at?" for a change. It wasn't as if it were his choice. Kyle trapped him every morning, though he didn't even realize it.

"What do you want?" Kyle asked after not receiving an answer.

Kenny lowered his head, "Sorry…. I'll go…."

Kyle grabbed his arm before he could turn to leave. He was unaware to himself of just why he did it. "…Come inside…. It's freezing…."

Kenny crawled through the window, receiving a helping hand from Kyle. The raggedy blonde tripped. And the result, seemed to be undisputed fate.

When Kyle felt Kenny's lips on his, the first thing he could manage to sort out of the chaotic thoughts that rushed through his crowded mind, was the amazement of how warm Kenny's lips were, despite the boy having just come inside from the cold snow. His own lips trembled as he struggled with whether or not he should pull away.

But to both boys, nothing could ever feel more right. Nothing could ever have been less out of place. The sunlight that had been so hesitant to shine that early morning, was now blinding, as the world had finally shifted into its rightful setting.

Kenny's heart raced. He pressed his lips more firmly against Kyle's, and kept them there. He had his hands grasping onto Kyle's shoulders. It was almost desperate. He feared that at any moment his friend would try and pull away. But he didn't.

Kenny felt an intense wave of passion. He knew it to be too strong for it to be expanding from just one heart. No. The passion that filled the air came from both him and Kyle. Kyle wanted it, just as he did.

Their lips met, then parted, then met again. Each subsequent kiss grew in its fervor and strength. Their bodies became hot, and their wants intensified. Their bodies moved slowly in unison with one another, and their hearts also began to beat within the same tempo.

Kyle had never felt so weak, yet firm at the same time. If Kenny hadn't had his body pressed into his own with such strength, Kyle was likely to have collapsed to the floor, overcome with extreme pleasure.

Kenny then took his lips from Kyle's and moved them slowly down his neck, unbuttoning the boy's pajama blouse. He heard Kyle breathing hard, but steady. He felt the hesitant touch on his back made by the redhead, and the returning of kisses to his own neck. Kenny's kisses made their way down Kyle's chest, abdomen, naval, and then retraced their path back to Kyle's soft lips, where a gentle moan escaped.

He felt Kyle playing with the string to his own pajama bottoms, as he removed his jacket and then shirt. Kyle allowed Kenny to push him up against the wall after removing his shirt, and the blonde leaned his naked body into his. Kyle rubbed his hands along Kenny's chest, digging his nails on impulse as he felt Kenny slide a hand down the front of his pants.

And then those warm lips-- the lips that he had surprisingly felt on his own-- that had traveled up and down his body-- were at a place Kyle had never imagined they would ever be. He tried not to, but it was just too much for him, and he moaned loudly as he cum in his friend's mouth.

A lesson learned was that Kyle should have allowed his urges to voice his pleasure earlier, instead of letting the passionate heat build up to an unbearable point, that resulted in him moaning Kenny's name a little too loud, and his parents awaking in the next room, and walking in on, what had been, the most perfect moment of the two boys' lives.

* * *

What's worse than not having what you desire most? Having it for a brief moment and then having it immediately snatched away. Having that joy, bliss, and excitement-- that _everything_, and then having it taken from you. It was utterly heart wrenching. Experiencing the ultimate experience, then being given the cruel banishment of never having it again. 

It took Kyle's parents only four days to move out of South Park, taking Kyle with them, and stealing Kenny McCormick's heart as a result. And to him, nothing could be more maliciously fated. Life, it seemed, would continue to fuck him over. Repeatedly.

"We're going to be late," Stan said as the two drove to a band concert Stan was having that evening.

"We won't," Kenny said, switching lanes and accidentally cutting off another driver, receiving an angry honk.

"It starts in six minutes! We're never going to make it!"

"Stan, calm your ass down!"

"We wouldn't have this problem if you weren't off drawing stupid pictures in the middle of nowhere, when you _knew_ you had to take me to my concert!"

"I said I was sorry!" He switched lanes again, cutting off another car. "Fuck!"

Stan sighed. "You can slow down. I mean, we're already late, being any later won't make a difference. I'm late and Mr. Villi won't let me on stage in the middle of a performance."

"Mr. Villi will let you on stage, because the thing won't start for another six minutes--"

"Five minutes."

"Five minutes. And we'll make it in five minutes."

"Kenny, it's alright. Maybe we should just--" Stan was interrupted by loud honking. He turned in his seat to look where it came from. A relatively young man in a sports car behind them shook his fists angrily, still honking the horn.

"Shut up, Asshole!" Kenny yelled.

Stan turned back around in his seat and let out another sigh. He continued to watch the car in the side mirror. He saw the man in the sports car switch to the lane beside them. He spat a mouthful of curses that were loud and clear through even the barrier of the rolled up windows.

"_Shut up!_" Kenny shouted.

Stan felt anxious as he saw that the man wouldn't leave them alone. "K-Kenny…" he squeaked.

"Stan, calm down. This fucker isn't going to do anything. He's just trying to scare you."

"He's swerving really close… Kenny… Kenny… I think we should pull over… or slow down and let him pass…." Stan scooted closer to Kenny and reached out to cling to a sleeve of his.

Kenny swatted his hand away. "We're going to make it to that fucking concert!"

"K-Kenny… K-K-Kenny… Kenny… _Kenny!_"

When the continuous twisting, turning, and toppling of the car finally stopped. Kenny sat frozen at the wheel. He had felt the vehicle roll in all sorts of directions, but just couldn't believe that it had happened. The roof of the car was dented, and just an inch from touching the top of his head. The windows were all broken and the car's engine had stopped.

He looked to Stan and saw a single bloody wound on his forehead. He hesitantly leaned over to his boyfriend and touched him. "…Stan?"

But there was no answer.


End file.
